


Knives away (Hands up)

by Ramen_and_Manuscripts



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Cool, I promise, I will take input on what the people want, Please read, but it's gonna be really good, i don't really know where this is going yet, i will add more tags, ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramen_and_Manuscripts/pseuds/Ramen_and_Manuscripts
Summary: Marta thrusts herself into self isolation for months after 'the incident', not finding contentment in the dullness of her mindless luxury but also not trusting herself to go back into the medical field. Benoit Blanc calls her up one day, seeking out his Watson once again and proposing an offer that Marta can't refuse.What comes after is an art heist and murder, probably.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	Knives away (Hands up)

That night, she closed that fateful room and locked the door behind her with a brass key she strung on a chain. Harlan’s study was synonymous with Harlan himself- so even if Marta can’t bear to look inside of it ever again she still wants to keep a part of him close to her heart. The dangling key is a constant pressure against her chest, and a constant reminder that nothing good ever comes easy.

She probably couldn’t forget anyway, even if she’d tried. 

Lately, she’s only been alone with her thoughts, which is a perfect formula for depression and thinking of Harlan and the familial baggage that came with him. Multiple Thrombey clan members periodically show up at her house and walk in without knocking- which is a bit more than slightly terrifying. Walking into her living room to see Walt sitting on her couch to ‘talk like adults’ about the ‘future of his company’, or Joni helping herself to food in the fridge and observing the knick knacks Marta has set out for auction happens to be wildly disorienting. Marta promptly flaunts her restraining order and threatens to call nine one one and they eventually teeter out.

Her mom and Alica have been in the process of moving their stuff to the house, which is nice, but it’s taking a long time and Alica is at school most of the time, and her mom (now with a green card due to money or something, she guesses. Benoit helped her find a lawyer and when she tried to ask questions he just smiled and drawled ‘let me take care of it, sweetheart’ and she hasn’t seen him since then, which hurts in her chest for some reason, but she decides to ignore it) likes to procrastinate so it’s looking like a few months before they’re fully moved in.

And why doesn’t Marta just move back home?

Well. She doesn’t really want to. It doesn’t make much sense to her, but something about leaving this house makes her nauseous, and even though she hates it, she trusts her stomach.

Maybe it’s that she feels like she actually has something for herself for the first time, twisted as the means she got it may be. Maybe it's because ‘before Harlan’s death’ doesn’t really exist anymore and she doesn’t want to pretend it does. Or maybe living ‘off the grid’ is good for her health?

Or maybe she’s just stupid.

Either way, she hasn’t had it in her to go back to work as a nurse so all she’s been going out to do is occasional grocery shopping and visits to her family. She doesn’t trust herself to start work again- to not screw up again.

Every time she even thinks about that, Mr. Blanc’s words echo through her head- ‘Because you’re a good nurse’. 

Sometimes she believes him, most times she doesn’t.

The Keruig sputters out it’s last drops of coffee and Marta picks up the steaming mug- staring into the liquid. She decides to take it black today.

Holding it gingerly so it doesn’t spill, Marta takes herself to her knitting, and almost resigns to another uneventful day. 

Almost.

Her phone rings the moment she sits down. After a few moments of fumbling with scalding liquid, she pulls it out of her pocket and swipes to pick up without thinking to look at the name. She’s changed her number so many times, it can’t be anyone she doesn’t know.

“Hello?” She mumbles, settling back down again, setting her coffee down on a years-old newspaper that’s been acting as a coaster for the past few days.

“Hello there, Miss Cabrera.” A distinctive southern drawl sounds through the speaker and Marta sits up straighter. Her mind struggles to form coherent thoughts. Is something wrong? Did she do something wrong? Is there more legal shit to sift through?

“Mr. Blanc? What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad.” He reassures her, “May I come over for a little chat?” 

Marta’s mind reels. This sounds similar to when Marta did something wrong as a child and her mom tried to trick her into fessing up by giving her a cookie.

Granted, Marta is also quite paranoid now. She does trust Blanc, he’s just- law. And though she hasn’t done anything wrong, that doesn’t stop her fear that she actually secretly has without even knowing it. 

“Um.”

“I will take that as a resounding yes. I will be over in about 30.” 

Marta opens her mouth and then closes it-

“This is alright, correct?”Benoit confirms after a few moments of silence. “I don’t want to force my presence on you.”

“Of-of course. I was just wondering how you got my phone number.”

“Your mother thinks I’m good for you.” Marta can hear the playfully smug amusement in his voice, “See you soon, Miss Cabrera.”

She sets down her cell phone.She probably looks a mess. Her muscles protesting, she springs up again to slip into something more formal. A sweater maybe, anything but sweatpants and her Boston College Alumni T shirt.

She should probably brush her teeth. Her hair, too, for that matter. 

She throws herself together just in time for her doorbell to ring. She rushes to let the PI in. 

“How do you do?” Is what he says when they come face to face again. She shrugs, opening the door wider to let the man into her home.

He’s dressed just as sharply as usual, which is quite dull compared to the detectives she’s seen in movies, but fancy nonetheless. A ashy purple blazer is secured over a off-white collared shirt. The look is completed with a lime green necktie. She questions it, but ultimately it’s what makes him so different from the others. 

She wordlessly gestures at one of the 7 seats in her sitting room. Blanc takes the armchair by the fire. She sits on the edge of the ottoman. 

Blanc smiles.“Cat got your tongue, young lady?”

Marta, realizing she literally hasn’t said anything since he’d walked in the door, grimaces embarrassedly. “Um. Sorry. Hello.”

The spark of mirth in his eyes flickers as he tilts his head in concern. “Are you okay?”

Marta coughs. “Yeah. I mean. I’m just wondering why you’re here, is all.”

“Ah.” Benoit lets out a chuckle.”This has nothing to do with the Thrombey’s, Marta, relax.”

Her shoulders visibly fall from their tensed position. “Oh. Well. Would you like something to drink?” She gestures at her now-cold coffee. 

“That would be splendid.” He drawls, leaning back and chewing on his pipe. “Coffee? Black. Take your time. This isn’t urgent.”

Marta desperately wants to know what ‘this’ is, but she knows he will tell her on his own time, whatever that time may be. She grabs her coffee to microwave and grabs another mug, the one that has the words ‘Kill Count’ scrawled across the top with bloody tally marks circling it, it’s to signify Harlan’s character deaths in all of his years of writing. It was horribly outdated at the time Harlan’s own death, though. He’d have needed 3 mugs.

She brews Blanc’s coffee in the Keurig, leaning against the counter. She can hear him humming sweet home Alabama from the living room. She smiles to herself slightly. What a strange, strange man. 

She returns with the two mugs, placing his on the side table and nursing her own in her lap.

“Ah. Thank you, Darling.”

Marta nods in acknowledgement, shifting uncomfortably. Not the Thrombeys… her mother? DId Marta overlook something? Was there a law against selling off Harlan’s creepy statues?

Marta is snapped out of her downward spiral by a quick tap on her forearm. She startles slightly. 

“Marta, relax.” Benoit looks amused. “I simply have a proposition for you.”

“What kind of proposition?” 

“Oh, the business sort.” Blanc leans back again. “I quite enjoyed having a Watson to my Sherlock, even if Watson was actually a double agent the whole time... I- uh- quite enjoyed the company.”

He peers at her over his mug. When Marta looks back at him blankly, he shakes his head. “ Marta, would you like to be my partner in anti-crime? As you will.”

Marta’s head reels. Wow. She doesn’t really know what she’s saying because her mouth isn’t caught up to her brain and her brain isn’t caught up to the situation but she says something like- “Qualifications? I don’t have those.’

Benoit laughs loudly.

“I mean- don’t you have to go to school for that?” Marta shakes her head, trying very hard not to sound stupid. 

“You already have a masters in nursing, Marta. You’re smart- and since I’m a private investigator I can make up my own rules. You were so good at hiding incriminating evidence while i was right next to you- imagine how you and I could work if we were actually working on the same side!”

When Marta shoots him a look, he stares back very seriously. “I’ve thought about this, Marta. I want you.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Benoit finishes the last of his coffee and stands up. 

“This is when I’d give you my card, but you already have my number so-” He shrugs. “Please think about it, Miss Cabrera. I know you haven’t been leaving the house much and by the sound of your voice, haven’t been talking to anyone either.”

Marta blinks, fighting the urge to clear her throat. 

“It will be good for you.” He gives her a pointed look. “And not that it matters to you in particular, but it does pay quite well.”

Marta raises her eyebrows.

“Give me a call, hmm?”

Marta nods. 

“Fantastic.” He grins at her, “I’ll show myself out. Goodbye, Miss. Cabrera.”

“Goodbye.”

He stands up and brushes imaginary dust off of his front. He ambles out of her sitting room, leaving her to watch his retreating back. 

The silence has been her constant for the past few months, but as the door slams shut behind the detective, she’s finally realized that she hates it.

She pulls out her phone, blasts her favorite Spotify playlist , and tries her best not to think too hard. That will be for when she tries to fall asleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow thanks for reading who knows where this is gonna go I love you if you've gotten this far lol.


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